Interlude
by Amanda Kitswell
Summary: Two strangers meet in a bar. AU Captain Swan.
1. Chapter 1

_**I had this idea a while ago while listening to Drive Me by Phillip Phillips, and well... yeah, it got written. I'm not sure how many chapters it's going to be, because I think planning is what has me stuck in a rut where Much Ado in Storybrooke is concerned. This is very AU (to the point of Storybrooke not existing) and it's part of a Captain Swan Saturday challenge over on tumblr.**_

* * *

Calming melodies lingered in the dimly lit bar, just audible enough over the din of voices: desperate souls longing for companionship were being drawn to each other. Try as he might to shut out the mating calls to hear the music, Killian was hopelessly distracted. The men's slurred expressions of attraction toward the women who had found a second home at the counter he now leant against were tiresome enough, never mind the rainbow of mixed drinks that had nearly found a new home on his casual suit.

A livelier song than the one he had regrettably missed started up, and the tipsy women dashed onto the dance floor. The men soon followed, answering the call of many a swinging hip and twirling hand. A drunken brunette in a too-small pink dress beckoned to Killian from the opposite side of the room as she danced. She stumbled during an attempt to spin seductively and he rolled his eyes, looking down at his cuffs. He pulled at the sleeves of his black jacket to cover the white linen he wore beneath it, brushing the front of the matching suit pants for good measure.

When he looked up—purposefully directing his gaze away from the brunette—his eyes fell upon the woman who had just entered the bar. Thin, dark red lips revealed a blindingly white smile as she turned to show her ID to the bouncer that guarded the door. A black tortoise shell clip held half of her loose, blonde curls back; what hair hung free of the clip swayed forward when she retrieved her identification and turned away from the bouncer.

The neckline of the pale blue dress she wore scooped modestly. A wide, studded black belt cinched the dress at the waist, accentuating her hips. He followed the length of her lightly tanned legs from mid-thigh to the simple black pumps she wore. His eyes moved back up slowly, drinking in every dip and curve before settling on her face.

She sauntered toward the opposite end of the bar, her lips moving along with the lyrics. They stopped as she caught him staring. A carefully manicured brow arched upward when, instead of looking away, he stared her down. It was a challenge she couldn't resist, apparently, as she changed course. She seemed to size him up as she moved, a critical evaluation similar to the one he had given her. It was more calculated than the ones he had received from the less interesting women he met there.

Her lips parted to speak, but the bartender came up to greet her. "Emma," he said, smiling. "Haven't seen you in a while. The usual?"

"Better make it Johnnie tonight, Leroy. Black label."

"Neal again?" Leroy asked, reaching to pull a bottle from the shelf and pouring the liquor into a glass.

"Yes." Killian watched as Emma grimaced, almost imperceptibly. "In fact, make that a double."

"You got it, Sister." He filled the glass further before handing it to her. She turned back to Killian, leaning against the bar.

"Emma, is it?"

She rolled her eyes. "Yes." Emma sipped her drink. "Well, now that you know my name, I think it's only fair you tell me yours."

"Is that so?" The corner of his mouth lifted drolly. "Name's Killian. If I may say, you don't seem the sort who frequents bars such as this: Not often enough to be on a first name basis with the bartender, anyway."

"I'm not sure I like what you're implying," she said to Killian, lifting her glass to her lips and taking a sizable sip.

"I can't see why you wouldn't." There went her eyebrow again. "You're a beautiful woman who prefers straight scotch to mixed drinks. You don't seem to be in a hurry to intoxicate yourself, either. In this crowd, that's a rare find. What did you think I meant, love?"

Emma shook her head. "Never mind." She looked out at the crowd of dancers. Her brows furrowed as she caught sight of something, or someone, in particular. "I'm not sure what I did, but that woman is looking at me like I murdered her cat or something."

"Who?" Killian followed Emma's gaze to the brunette who had attempted to get his attention and saw the ire etched into every line on her heavily made-up face. "Oh, her. It may have something to do with her attempts to seduce me before you arrived." He didn't feel bad at all for ignoring the pink-clad woman—someone new would distract her soon enough.

"She's not your type?"

He snorted derisively. "None of the women I've had the pleasure of speaking to this evening have caught my fancy." He turned to her, the corner of his mouth quirking upward lazily. "Not until you."

"Smooth." She met his eyes deliberately. Though it looked as if she wanted to say something, she remained silent.

"So," he began, lifting his beer to his lips and taking a swig before continuing, "who's Neal?"

"Nobody important," she replied dismissively, her gaze wandering to the entrance.

"I hardly think somebody unimportant would warrant a double of Johnnie Walker. Black label, no less."

She rolled her eyes. "You _just _met me. What makes you think it's any of your business what I drink and why I do it?"

"I apologize," he said, holding up the hand that wasn't occupied in surrender. "I only thought that you might want someone who knows nothing of the situation to vent to. Is that truly a problem?"

Her lips parted to speak, but she was silenced by an intrusive, "Emma," called from the other side of the bar. A woman with dark brown hair streaked blood red waved at Emma from where the bouncer was checking her ID, the sleeve of her plain white dress covering the palm of her hand. She slipped the card back into her clutch and hurried across the dance floor, her dark red heels a blur in her haste.

He looked back at Emma, who was smiling at the woman's approach. "Hey, Ruby."

"I am _so_ sorry I'm late. The T was delayed, and you know what it's like trying to hail a…" she trailed off, her attention shifting to Killian, and he met her eyes without hesitation. The hand that wasn't holding her clutch went to a hip that cocked to the side. "This guy bothering you?"

Emma seemed to glance at him out of the corner of her eye. "No, we were just talking."

"And 'this guy' has a name," he said, his face a mask of mock-offense. He held out a hand to the new woman. "Killian Jones."

"I knew I recognized you!" Ruby said emphatically, her attitude doing a complete one-eighty. "You're in the band that played here a couple weeks back."

He dropped his hand back to his side. "Mm. Purified Disguise."

"You guys were incredible." She turned to her friend, smiling broadly. "I wish you could have been there, Emma. They're the best alternative rock band in Boston."

"If I hadn't had to work to"—she took a quick, almost unnoticeable breath—"I'm sorry I missed it." Her jaw clenched and unclenched once before she was smiling again.

"You should be," he said cheekily.

Emma's eyes snapped to his; it looked as if she were going to chew him out. He looked to Ruby briefly—her eyes were wide, looking between Emma and Killian. Apparently this was something to be nervous about. When he looked back to Emma, however, a smile was beginning to form on her lips. A soft chuckle reverberated in her throat, and the moment passed.

"Tell you what," he started tentatively. He looked between the two women, his confidence momentarily shaken. Her eyebrow had lifted once more, this time out of curiosity: that grin still shone on Emma's face. He pushed on, his morale boosted by that intoxicating smile. "We're playing here again, two weeks from tonight. You can make amends for missing our last show by being at that one."

They simply looked at one another for a moment, silent but for the music and the click of Ruby's heels as she walked further down the bar. Then Emma dipped her chin in a subtle nod. "Sure, why not?"

Killian's mouth stretched into a full-out grin. "Wonderful."


	2. Chapter 2

His fingers moved between the frets, the movements as natural as his own heartbeat. He and Victor harmonized effortlessly with Sean, the lead vocalist, as he belted out the chorus with unreserved passion. The song was raw, new, but as he and the guys worked tirelessly at perfecting it, Killian became convinced it would be one of their best.

A blaring from across the room broke the trance they all seemed to be in, and Jefferson was the first to stop playing: everyone fell apart, after that, losing the rhythm without the drums leading them. Jefferson gave a grunt from behind Killian, who turned to see the drummer twirling his sticks impatiently. Knowing Jefferson, this was no particular annoyance with Sean. It was probably just irritation similar to being awoken from a deep sleep.

"Sorry, guys," Sean muttered, putting his guitar down and rushing to where he had carelessly thrown his jacket. "What's up?" he said once he'd accepted the call. His face fell. "Is she all right? Do you need me to come home?" His posture relaxed a bit. "Are you sure?" He nodded, though to no one that was present. "I'll pick it up on the way home. Love you, too, Ash." He tucked the phone back into his jacket pocket and faced the rest of the band. "Alex is running a fever."

"Does Ashley need you there?" Phillip asked, holding his guitar against him.

"She said she would be fine until after practice."

Killian could see the lines on Sean's forehead as his brows knitted together. Though he may not understand what Sean was feeling, having no family of his own, Killian could understand his friend was worried.

"Go home, Sean," Killian said. The rest of the men looked ready to protest, but he cut them off. "We can put in extra hours tomorrow."

"The show is in less than a week, and some of us have day jobs," Victor said, adjusting his shoulder strap to rest the bass against his hip.

"Yeah." Jefferson had stopped twirling the drumsticks. "There's no way we'll have the new song ready in time without today's practice."

"We've been at it for over a month. I don't know what you two are worried about." He shrugged when they looked at him, baffled. "It's up to Sean," he continued, turning to the vocalist. "Do you want to go home?"

Sean looked between all of his band mates before nodding. "I'm sorry. I have to put my daughter first, right now. I'm sure it's nothing, but I can't leave Ash alone with a sick baby. It's not right."

"Go ahead," Phillip chimed in. "Tell Ashley I said hey."

"Sure thing," Sean replied. Within five minutes he had his equipment packed and was out the door.

"If only he could move that fast after a show," Jefferson quipped.

Phillip snorted. "Says the man who took at least forty-five minutes to pack up after the last gig."

"Touché." He passed his sticks from hand to hand before settling them between his knees. "Are we calling it a night?"

Killian nodded. "I suppose we are."

"In that case, why don't we head to Swan Song and have a drink or six?" Victor asked. "I'm buying."

Jefferson was in the middle of breaking down his drum kit when he looked up, his floor tom on his lap. "How could we refuse?"

"Sorry, guys. You know I can't." Phillip gave a self-deprecating smile.

"I always forget you're practically a kid," Victor said. "How old are you again? Twelve?"

"Nineteen, asshole." He tossed a pick at the bassist, narrowly missing Victor's head. The older man chuckled.

Killian put his arm through the shoulder strap on his guitar case, watching as Phillip leant his own guitar against the old, pricey amp the kid always lugged to practice. He knew the pale pink Fender wasn't the younger man's originally, but why he still had it was beyond him. Fender or not, it was a horrific color for a guitar.

"I still don't understand why you have that awful thing," Killian said jokingly, concealing his actual disdain for the instrument. "It's pink, for God's sake."

"It was my older sister's." Phillip sighed, zipping his case. "She demanded a pink guitar when she just _had_ to learn to play. My parents refused to buy me my own after that. They were afraid that they'd waste another hundred and thirty dollars."

"You said your sister named it, right?" Jefferson said, laughing. "What did she call it? Audra?"

"Aurora." He rolled his eyes. "I swear I'll buy a new one as soon as I have the spare cash. My parents would have gotten me one when I joined the band, but with the economy the way it is…" he trailed off, a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"It's all right, Kid. It's not that big a deal," Jefferson said, packing up the last of his hardware. "You needed a ride home, right?"

"Yeah. If you don't mind." He shouldered his guitar case.

"Not at all. You can help me carry my equipment out to the truck."

"Awesome," Phillip said, his voice dripping sarcasm. He grabbed the rolling hardware case and the cymbal bag before Jefferson could protest. "I'll see you guys tomorrow."

Killian watched him walk out of the rehearsal studio before looking at Jefferson, who was now glaring at his equipment indignantly. "That kid is lucky I like him: he can be such a little shit sometimes."

"You're just pissed that your plan to make him carry the heavy stuff backfired," Victor jabbed.

"Semantics."

"Anti-semantic bastard," Killian deadpanned, receiving an amused look from Victor.

Jefferson made a noise in the back of his throat. "And that's a problem?"

"Just bring the kid home before someone kidnaps him," Victor said, picking up the bass and snare drums. "I'll even help you carry your stuff to the truck."

"Gee, thanks." Jefferson stacked the toms and turned back to Killian. "We'll meet you at Swan Song. I'll probably be there later."

Nodding, Killian waited until he was alone to pull out his cell phone and check for any messages. He brought his amp out to the car as he listened to a voicemail from his boss, asking him to pick up an extra shift two nights later. Unlocking his trunk, he hoisted the amp up and into it before slamming it shut. When he was settled in the driver's seat of his beat up Honda, he read the half dozen texts from the girl for whom he would probably be covering, if he accepted. He hated hosting, but it paid the bills: the restaurant's manager was pretty laid back, at the very least.

After letting the girl know that she had to call their boss and tell him that Killian would cover for her, he pocketed his phone and leaned his head back, thinking—something he had been avoiding lately. If he stopped simply _doing_ for even a moment, his mind wandered to the accident, to Milah, to that bastard Gold and how easy it was for the senator to weasel his way out of paying for what he had done.

Steeling himself against the onslaught of anger and grief, Killian started the car. He switched between preset stations on the radio. Commercial after bloody commercial. He gave up and plugged in his mp3 player. Shuffling the bulk of his songs, he tossed it onto the seat next to him.

He stopped as he reached for the gearshift, his mouth stretching into a surprised smile: the song from the night he met Emma was playing. It was the one that she had been mouthing along to before she had seen him staring. He caught himself wondering if she might be at Swan Song and had to force himself to jump that train of thought. Guilt clawed at him like a bush of thorns as he struggled through memories of Milah.

Resolutely pushing all thought away, he put the car in drive and sped out of the parking lot.

* * *

"Well, you look thoroughly conflicted." Killian looked up to see Victor staring at him sadly. When Killian didn't say anything, Victor continued, "Milah?"

"Yeah." He gritted his teeth and stared down into his glass of scotch. "She died, and the bastard who killed her walked away completely unscathed. In what world is that fair?"

"Are you talking about Gold or yourself here, Killian?"

He pursed his lips, glaring at nothing in particular. He remembered swerving to avoid the senator's BMW as it sped toward them. The crunch and grind of metal as the two cars collided: Milah's screams abruptly silenced when a telephone pole embedded itself in the passenger side of his old Toyota. His shouts for help going unheeded as Gold fled the scene.

A group of enthusiasts cheered loudly for whatever was happening in the baseball game displayed on the televisions, tearing Killian from his memories. He swirled the amber liquid in his glass. When he looked up, he saw Jefferson taking his ID back from the bouncer, Lance.

He approached them slowly when he noted Killian's expression, his own becoming wary. "Who died?"

"Jeff…" Victor said.

"What?" Jefferson looked between the two other men. His face drained of color as realization dawned on him. Sympathy twisted the corners of his mouth into a frown. "Oh, shit. I'm—"

"Forget it." Killian knocked back the rest of his scotch, avoiding his friends' eyes.. "I'll be back: I need air."

Pushing away from the bar, his thoughts were a haze. He nearly collided with a tall, heavy-set man in a Red Sox jersey who was crossing back to his table from the bathrooms. Apologizing absently, Killian wandered aimlessly toward the entrance.

Once he was outside, he leaned against the side of building. The cool brick was rough against his back; abrasive even through the red t-shirt he wore. He breathed deeply, the humid summer air filling his lungs. He closed his eyes as he exhaled, allowing himself to get lost in the sounds of the city. Cars whirred past, sound systems with the bass turned up way too high thumping loudly.

A crack of thunder shattered the façade of peace, and his eyes snapped open. He stared into the starless sky; the clouds drifted on the wind, which was increasing steadily. The first drops of rain splattered on the sidewalk, rapidly gaining momentum as the wind drove it sideways into his face. As water streaked from his now sodden hair, forcing him to hurry for the entrance, he shook his head.

It figured, really.

* * *

Emma stared down at the silver frame that she held. The picture within was of her smiling at the camera. Her head rested against Neal's chest, his smile matching hers for brilliance as he held her. It was a better time, back when she was a sophomore at UMass Amherst and she and Neal had just started dating. Long before the overtime she had to work to pay their bills because he wasn't bringing in enough money from his teaching aide job at the university; before the fights that kept her up at night while he slept soundly beside her; before the past week when everything had gone straight to hell.

Five years later, and she was sitting in front of countless old photos stored in a cardboard box with curling flaps that barely clung to the sides. Before this past week, she would have looked at these photos and remembered that things hadn't always been as bad as they were now. At the moment, however, it only served to remind her that those five years with Neal had been a horrible waste.

Her cell phone vibrated from the nightstand. With a sigh, she placed the framed photograph in the box. She stretched as she stood, her lower back protesting the change in position after spending hours bent over a box of endless memories. She walked over to the nightstand, rubbing her back gently with the tips of her fingers.

Taking one final glance back at the picture of Neal and her—half obscured by withering cardboard—she accepted the call. "Hello?"

"Hey! I'm outside and it's pouring," Ruby's voice said. "Buzz me in!"

"Huh?" She looked outside the window just as a bolt of lightning flashed in the distance, cutting a vibrant gash in the darkness. "Oh, damn. Give me a sec."

"Hurry!"

Emma put the phone in her pocket and hurried to the door. Her Scottish terrier, Henry, loped into the living room a few moments after her; he stretched his small body and yawned. It was a few moments after she had buzzed to unlock the front door that Ruby entered the apartment.

Dropping the hood of her dark red sweater, Ruby lifted the black canvas tote she was holding in her left hand. "I have everything! Enough cheesy romantic movies to keep us occupied until well after midnight and more chocolate than we could possibly finish in one sitting." She held up the paper bag encased within a plastic one, her grin wide. "Also, Chinese food, because why the hell not?"

Emma smiled at her friend's enthusiasm. "If you want to start setting up, go ahead. I need to put something away quick."

"Okay."

When Ruby was busy with unpacking the containers of food, Emma turned and walked into the bedroom. She approached the box as she would a venomous snake, suddenly wary of the threat to her resolve. Neal had betrayed her trust in such a terrible way; she hadn't spoken to him since he had told her what he had done. When she stared at those photographs, she was torn between a strong urge to burn them and an equally intense desire to call him, just to hear his voice.

Glancing through the doorway at her friend, who was in the middle of deciding between _10 Things I Hate About You _and _Shakespeare in Love_, Emma found a new strength in the support Ruby offered. She was nearly twenty-five years old, and yet she was acting like a broken-hearted teenager. She could feel herself hardening against the heartache that had been plaguing her for the past week; she bent over, lifted the box, and carried it to the closet.

"Emma, I can't choose between these two." Emma turned her head to see Ruby standing in the doorway, holding a DVD case in each hand. "Which do you want to watch?"

Settling the box on the top shelf, out of sight, Emma closed the door. "You sure know how to make a decision difficult." She tapped her chin, feigning deep thought. "The Jane Austen fan in me is screaming for Colin Firth."

"I still don't understand your obsession with that man."

"One of these days I will get you to sit through the BBC's _Pride & Prejudice_. Then you'll get it."

"Why spend five hours watching something that Keira Knightley and Matthew MacFadyen did perfectly in less than half that time?" Emma stared at Ruby, her eyes narrowing impatiently. The brunette held up her hands. "Fine. Next movie night, we'll watch your precious Colin Firth."

A wide grin pulled at Emma's lips. "You won't regret it. Trust me."

"Let's just put in _Shakespeare in Love_. The food is getting cold, and I'm starved."

Emma followed Ruby, pausing at the bedroom door to look back at the closet. After a moment, she felt a cold nose rub against her bare foot. She looked down to see Henry staring up at her, a question in his intelligent brown eyes. Bending over, she lifted the dog in her arms. She chuckled softly as he licked her face, pulling her from the pool of sadness into which reflecting on her failed relationship always plunged her.

Placing Henry down on the dog bed near the window, she looked down at the street below, barely visible through the driving rain that pelted the glass. Lightning still flashed, thunder cracking loudly. When a particularly loud clap made the window vibrate violently, she pulled Henry's bed closer to the couch. His black head tilted to the side in curiosity, and she plopped herself on the couch, staring back at him. When Henry's head settled down between his paws, she reached over to the table and took a container of lo mein and a pair of chopsticks.

"Ready?" Ruby asked, remote at the ready. Emma nodded, and the other woman pressed play, dropping the remote on the couch between them.

They ate silently, Emma occasionally throwing bits of chicken to Henry when he poked his head up from his nap. When she placed her box down on the table, the dog followed her actions before settling on staring at her longingly. She patted the empty spot on the couch beside her. Henry jumped up, only to settle in her lap instead of where she had indicated.

"I'm glad to see Henry back," Ruby said, pulling Emma out of the massive fight taking place on screen. "It must have been hard for your parents to let him go after so long."

"Yeah, they almost didn't let me have him back." She laughed, remembering Mary Margaret's reluctance as she handed Emma the leash. David had played with Henry in the backyard, stalling her for over an hour. "I guess that's a plus to not having Neal here anymore."

Ruby reached over to scratch Henry behind the ear. "Damn right. He's a good boy, and deserves a daddy who loves him. Don't you, Henry?" He barked happily, his tail wagging. He scampered off Emma's lap and over to Ruby's, placing his paws on her chest as he assaulted her face with kisses. Ruby and Emma both laughed at his exuberance. Eventually Ruby pushed him down, patting his head gently. "All right, all right. I love you too, Henry."

"Sometimes I wonder if he likes you more than me."

Ruby grinned. "What can I say? I have a way with dogs." She was silent a moment, watching as William confessed to murdering a man after reuniting with Violet. "Do you still want to go to that show this weekend?"

Emma thought back to the night she had said she would go. She hadn't really wanted to go out, but Ruby—ever the persuasive best friend—had convinced her it was a good idea. Killian had been so intrusive, and yet she had brushed it off as if he were a friend. She still didn't understand how she had acted that night. Whatever had possessed Emma to say yes to an invitation from a man she had just met was beyond her.

Sighing, she answered, "I don't know."

"Oh, come on," Ruby urged. Her voice took on a teasing lilt as she added, "Killian seemed really into you."

"Ruby…"

"Don't tell me it's too soon, Em." Her eyes were stern when they met Emma's. "Things with Neal have been over for a long time. You guys were always fighting. His cheating was only the catalyst to the inevitable." Emma stared at her friend severely. "Fine. It's too soon."

"I…" Emma sighed, her gaze softening. "I guess you're right. It's stupid of me to think that Neal and I can fix things. I just… I loved him, you know? You don't just get over that."

"Judging by your use of the past tense, it sounds like you already have," Ruby pointed out.

"Maybe." She dug her fingers into her hair, groaning in frustration. "I don't know. I keep thinking that if we hadn't fought that night, if I hadn't kicked him out, none of this would have even happened."

"Emma, this is absolutely _not_ your fault. Neal said himself it was two days before he even did anything. He had plenty of time to cool down from the argument you guys had, and he still royally messed up." Ruby took Emma's hand. "You need to stop worrying about Neal and what could have been and start focusing on moving forward."

"You're right." Emma gave a half-smile. "Okay, I'll go. But we're adding _Sense and Sensibility_ to the next movie night."

Ruby made a face. "The one with Snape and Trelawney?"

"That's it," Emma said. "Now hand over the chocolate."

"I feel like this was a very unfair trade," Ruby groused, handing over the canvas bag.

"It's only one night." Emma rolled her eyes when the brunette glared in response. "Fine, you can pick the movies for the next movie night."

Ruby snatched the raspberry chocolate bar Emma had just taken out of the bag. "Deal."

* * *

_**I hope you guys are enjoying this so far. The response to the first chapter really kept me going. It means so much that people took the time to let me know how much they liked it. Your reviews really keep me smiling (and writing, apparently... 3400 words, jeez). Thanks so much!**_


	3. Chapter 3

The small neighborhood market was bustling with people when Emma pushed through the door. A steady drizzle had persisted since the storm the night before, covering her dark blue trench coat in a sheen of moisture that glistened like starlight under the fluorescents. She shook the coat gently to rid it of rainwater, then tucked a wayward lock of windblown hair behind her ear. Frankly, she wouldn't have made this trip if she hadn't been desperate for groceries.

She lifted one of the baskets that the market provided, making a beeline to the produce section. It was no small task, getting through a crowd of people without colliding with anyone, but she managed well enough. She muttered an apology to one woman she happened to graze with her shoulder just before she reached the shelves of apples, offering a half-hearted smile that was received with a dismissive nod.

At least she had bumped into one of the polite ones.

She lifted a blood red apple on instinct, dropping it immediately: Those were Neal's favorite. With a heavy sigh, she moved down the line to the golden apples that capped off the display. She rolled a few apples in her hand, checking them thoroughly before placing apples devoid of bruises and scars into the plastic bag she had taken.

An hour passed as she picked her way through the different fruits, moving on to the aisles of dry goods. She had to backtrack quite a bit, replacing items she had taken mechanically—the cereal that Neal ate every morning before work, or the particular coffee brand that she couldn't stand but he raved about endlessly. The only accidental item she held onto was the beer, as it was one of the few things they had both enjoyed.

Weaving her way through the crowd that milled around the registers, she found her way to the express line; shopping for only herself was lighter, at the very least. Emma kept her eyes cast downward, her mood sinking steadily into depression, struggling to keep her head above water. She placed the six-pack on the counter and frowned, questioning her decision to purchase it at all.

"Good choice," a familiar voice said sadly.

She whirled on it. "Neal?"

"Hey, Em." One corner of his mouth lifted in an almost embarrassed smile. Her heart clenched. "How've you been?"

"Fine," she bit out, steeling herself against the emotions that were welling up. Her jaw set and her eyes became hard as a dam erected itself against the flood of feelings.

"I—" he cut himself off; seemed to reconsider what he was going to say. "I was actually going to call you tonight." She lifted an eyebrow, silently questioning him. "Is it all right if I come by and get the rest of my stuff?"

Her expression faltered. She was a little hurt, though for no ascertainable reason. "Yeah, I guess."

An insistent cough from the cashier reminded Emma where she was, and she spun away from Neal. Apologizing quickly, she rummaged through her purse for her credit card. She swiped it through the machine, scribbling across the screen when prompted. The cashier handed her the receipt, pushing her bags of groceries down the counter so they were more accessible.

With a quick, strained smile for the cashier, she lifted the bags and turned back to Neal. "You remember where the apartment is?"

"Of course," he answered, his face falling into a confused frown.

She nodded, turning on her heel and hurrying for the exit. When she was sure she was out of sight, groceries clutched far too tightly against her chest, she began to feel the anxiety creeping up on her. It had been over a week since she'd had any contact with Neal, and her conversation with Ruby had been a huge step toward moving forward. Now that she had seen him again, though, she was shifting into reverse.

"Emma! Em, wait up!"

She kept walking, heedless of Neal's pleas. His footsteps gradually grew closer, but, even as he came up beside her, she stubbornly kept her eyes on the concrete in front of her. She was sure he tried to speak a time or two, but block after block was traversed without so much as a syllable actually passing his lips.

Too soon—or maybe not soon enough, she couldn't decide—they were in front of her apartment building. She struggled to balance the bags as she reached for her keys, cursing as one nearly slipped from her grasp.

"Here," Neal said, catching the bag and cradling it in his arms alongside his own.

She looked up at him, giving him a nod of thanks; the weight of apprehension in her gut eased a bit, and she gave him a tentative smile.

They climbed the steps up to her apartment, Neal waiting a step below the landing as she unlocked the door to the apartment. She could hear a soft pattering on the carpet before she opened the door.

"You got Henry back from your parents already?" Neal's voice was neutral, but his furrowed brow and slightly crinkled nose showed how he truly felt about the Scottie.

"Yeah, a couple of days ago." Henry nuzzled her ankle, his nose tickling her skin through her jeans. She rounded the dog carefully to head for the kitchen, Neal following close behind. "Want a drink?" she asked, more out of habit than actually wanting to be polite, as she placed her bag on the counter and began unpacking the contents. She looked up at him when he didn't respond immediately, her eyes meeting the warring emotions in his. "What?"

"Uh . . . nothing." He smiled, though his lips seemed tight. "Yeah, I'll take a beer."

"I think they're in the bag you took," she said after a quick glance in her bag.

He put the bags he was holding on the counter beside Emma's, his arm brushing hers when he started to help her unload. They moved around the kitchen together easily; she could feel the dam she had built slowly crumbling beneath the weight of familiarity.

Turning to the refrigerator with the half-gallon of milk she had bought, she saw Neal standing with an open beer in each hand. He handed one to her silently, that strained smile relaxing slightly when she reached, albeit hesitantly, for the bottle. He took the milk from her and put it away while she sipped her beer.

After a moment of silence so thick with tension Emma could feel it pressing down on her, she said, "I'll get your things," and hurried out of the kitchen.

She took a deep breath as she walked to the bedroom, pulling her jacket off and tossing it on the couch as she went. She was struggling to keep her head above water in the flood of emotion that was drowning her. She took a generous swig from her bottle, then a second and third. She kept going until she lost count, the bottle nearly empty.

Setting the bottle on the dresser as she crossed to the closet, she reached up and pulled down the box of photographs, placing it on the floor of the closet where her shoes lined the wall. Her gaze lingered on the framed photograph of Neal and her, askew atop the multitude of loose prints she had planned to turn into a scrapbook. She had long since gotten rid of the pastel green blouse she wore in the photograph, but Neal's black, plaid button up had become a staple of his.

Tearing herself away from staring with an effort, she reached for a larger box that had been settled behind the box of pictures. She could hardly graze it with her fingertips. She shouldn't have shoved it back as far as it would go. She folded her arms across her chest and narrowed her eyes at the shelf, frustrated by her lack of height.

"Need a hand?"

Neal was leaning in the doorway. His shoulders were stiff, and, when she nodded, he approached her slowly, cautiously. He didn't have his beer with him, and she could only assume that he had been just as hasty to finish it as she had been.

"It's the big one on the right," she said, masking every emotion that wanted to make itself heard in her voice.

Not much taller than Emma, Neal eased the box from the shelf gradually until he had pulled it down and held it between them. "Didn't expect me to come so soon?"

She shook her head, shifting her eyes toward the clothes in the closet. She could hear his sigh before he began to walk away. A gleam of black among the array of color in her closet caught her eye. Removing the hanger that held the garment from the closet, she caressed the shirt—the same plaid shirt Neal had been wearing in the photograph.

"Wait!" she called, pulling herself from her own reverie. He turned to face her just before he crossed into the living room, the box still held in his hands in a white-knuckled grip. She didn't make a move toward him, simply held out the shirt from where she stood in front of the closet. "I must have missed it when I was . . . going through everything."

"I wore that shirt on one of our first dates," he said, and she nodded. Placing the box on her dresser, he came back to stand in front of her. He took the same sleeve she had been playing with, lifting it as if in consideration. Moving to take the hanger, his hand brushed hers. He met her eyes. "I should go. August . . ."

"You're staying with August?" she asked. Emma noticed that his hand lingered against hers. His fingers tangled with hers, and she glanced downward.

"Yeah." The distance between them seemed to be disappearing, and the air left her lungs in a quiet gasp. "Just until I can get a place of my own."

"That's good," she breathed.

Who initiated the kiss she didn't know. All she knew, all she felt, was his lips on hers, a soft caress that burned like the hottest flame. Her heart _screamed_ for this, ached to be close to him just one last time, but her mind sent up flares and blared sirens that said this couldn't end well. Her free hand went to his chest and pushed gently. He said nothing, and neither did she. The look they shared was enough—the mangled remains of what they had was beyond healing.

His hand leaving hers as he took the shirt, hanger and all, and crossed the room felt like losing a piece of herself. She waited until he had finally retrieved his things from the kitchen and left the apartment. When he was gone, she moved to her bed, collapsing backwards onto it and kicking off her sneakers.

Staring at her bottle, she barely heard the muffled tapping. It grew steadily louder, and she hardly reacted when Henry yipped up at her. She sat up and looked down at the terrier; Emma swore she saw worry in the chocolate eyes that watched her. The memory of Neal's eyes before they kissed flashed as quick as she blinked. Her heart twisted in her rib cage.

Standing from the bed, she crossed to the dresser and grabbed the beer, draining what remained in one swig. Henry followed her as she crossed the apartment to the kitchen, his tiny paws clicking against the linoleum briefly before he sat. She rummaged through the silverware drawer until she found the bottle opener, retrieving a beer from the refrigerator and popping it open.

She took a long drink, her eyes closed tight against thoughts and feelings alike. When she opened her eyes, she met the eyes of her diligent companion, his head tilting to the side. Patting her hip, she made her way to the living room and fell onto the couch, Henry close behind. Staring into the black television screen, considering her options, she sipped steadily at the beer.

It was willfulness alone that kept her from calling Ruby, even though Emma knew her friend would be there in a heartbeat to help her through this. She needed to stop relying on other people to help her deal with Neal and the hell he put her through, whether he meant to or not.

After another moment of staring into the deep void of the television screen, she stood from the couch and crossed to the television stand, opening the cabinet beneath that held her DVDs. Sliding her fingers along the titles, she stopped at _Sense and Sensibility_. She pulled it from the cabinet, briefly studying Kate Winslet's face. Something about Marianne resonated within Emma, and it left her feeling unsettled.

Was Neal her Willoughby?

* * *

A few whoops and cheers mingled with the general applause as the latest band finished up their set. They were one of the newer bands that had popped up over the course of the past year, but they showed promise—Swan Song always showcased the best bands, or the bands that had the potential to become one of the best.

His band mates were scattered around the bar, Phillip the lone teenager among a group of adults. His neon green bracelet signaled that, though underage, he was with a band and therefore permitted to be in the bar for the night. It wasn't strictly legal, but the presence of Phillip's parents in the back corner of the bar was enough to set Killian's mind at ease.

Phillip was sitting at a table with Sean and Ashley, who came to every show as long as she could get a sitter. She and Sean were holding hands, though Ashley was deep in conversation with Phillip. He had really hit it off with the singer and his wife.

Jefferson and Victor were talking heatedly beside Killian, though he only caught a word or two of their conversation for all the attention he was paying. It was probably just general bickering between friends.

He sipped at his glass of water. Watching as the guitarist of the last band pick up his amp, Killian realized that he had forgotten his own in the trunk of his car. He had been so caught up thinking about the set list, the amp had completely slipped his mind.

"I'll be back," he said, setting his water on the bar.

Victor turned to look at him, confused. "We go on in twenty."

"I know," he replied. "I won't be long. Forgot my amp."

"Seriously?" Jefferson laughed, leaning his elbow on the bar. "Mr. Boy Scout forgot something? That's a switch."

"One: I was never a Boy Scout and I take offense to being compared to one. Two: We're all entitled to one oversight. Besides, we make a lot of concessions for you, Jefferson."

"All right, all right, I give. Just hurry up."

Killian nodded. When he turned to head to for the back, however, he found himself facing both Emma and Ruby.

Covering his surprise with a smile, he said, "Hello, ladies. Glad to see you could make it."

"Wouldn't miss it," Ruby said.

She literally leaned into Emma, who smiled; it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Well, I did owe you for missing it the last time."

"That you did." He stared at her for a moment. She seemed different from the last time he had seen her, though how much he actually knew her from one night's conversation was debatable. When Victor cleared his throat, Killian shook himself from his thoughts and turned to his band mates. "Emma, Ruby, this is Victor, and"—he gestured beyond the blond—"that's Jefferson. They're in the band. The others are sitting over there." He pointed to the table nearby where the rest of his band mates were sitting. "Phillip, Sean, and Sean's wife, Ashley."

Emma looked over and seemed to contemplate the people at the table. Her gaze lingering on the joined hands of the married couple, she sighed and turned back to Killian, fixing a smile on her dark pink lips.

"I know I've seen you at our show's before," Victor said, smiling as he shook Ruby's hand. "It's nice to officially meet you."

"Likewise."

Killian noted that the handshake lingered a bit longer than usual, the two staring at each other with small smiles. He went to say something, but Jefferson beat him to it. "It looks like the other band is done breaking down. I'm gonna start setting up. Coming, Vic?"

Victor looked over at Jefferson. "Right, yeah," he reluctantly let go of Ruby's hand. "You want to come with?"

"Sure," Ruby said, turning to Emma. "You gonna be okay, Em?"

"Of course." She smiled at her friend, a knowing glimmer in her blue-green eyes. "I'll see you in a bit."

The three walked off, Jefferson turning on a dime and calling, "Don't forget about your amp!"

"Damn, that's right." He smiled at Emma. "I have to get my amp out of my car."

"All right," Emma said.

"Care to join me? I'd hate to leave you on your own."

"I'll be—" She hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah."

He smiled and headed for the back entrance. He slipped through the crowd of people until they reached the empty corridor leading to the back entrance, Emma close behind him. He pulled his keys from the pocket of his jeans as he pushed through the door, holding it open for Emma to walk through. She gave him a small smile in thanks. They walked through the parking lot in relative silence, the only sound her heels clicking against the pavement.

"Phillip looked pretty young," she commented as they reached his car.

He gave her a brief look. "He's nineteen."

"Has he always been with the band?"

"Actually, he hasn't. We had another guitarist, Graham, but he transferred to the Springfield PD about a year ago." Killian opened the trunk and pulled out the amp. "About a month after that, making detective and being in a band over an hour and a half away caught up to him, so he left the band."

"That must have been rough," she said, her eyebrows drawn together.

"At the time it was more frustrating than anything else. Not that he left, but because of the reason. He didn't really have a choice." He slammed the trunk shut. "He still comes out for shows every now and again, so it's not as if we don't see him. But he was a great guitarist and an even better friend. It was hard to see him go."

Side by side, they moved toward to the building. "Why did he have to transfer?"

"He didn't _have _to, per se, but it was the only way he could be a detective. The chief of police in Boston had it out for him; kept pushing back the promotion."

"What? Why?"

Killian looked over at her as they reached the door to the bar. "The story of why Chief Mills deserves to be stripped of her title is a long one, and I have to get ready for our set."

Her eyebrows lifted slightly, but she said nothing. It was to her credit that she knew he didn't want to discuss it further. Holding the door open for her again, they came upon Ruby exiting the storage room. Emma moved to stand beside her friend in front of the door once she and Killian had approached Ruby.

"I'll see you ladies after the set," he said. Receiving brief farewells from the two women before they went back to the main room, he turned and headed into the storage room.

* * *

"What happened with Killian?" Ruby asked.

Emma turned away from watching Killian tune his guitar. "What do you mean?"

"Things seemed tense when you guys came inside."

"Oh, we were just talking about the band. Apparently Phillip wasn't always in it."

"Really? What happened to the other guy?"

"Killian says he moved to Springfield. He didn't really seem to want to be more specific than that." She couldn't remember anyone throwing up a wall faster than when she had pressed him for details about Graham's transfer.

Leroy—finally detaching himself from the crowd surrounding his bar—came over to them. "What can I get you girls?"

"Same as last time, Leroy," Emma said loudly, so she could be heard over the music—Killian's band had just started playing.

Ruby gave Emma a look when Leroy brought over their drinks. When Leroy had gone over to another customer, Ruby whirled on Emma. "What happened with Neal?"

Emma's eyes went wide. "What are you talking about?"

"Don't give me that. You only order a double of Johnnie Walker after a fight with Neal."

"Why can't it just be that I like Johnnie?" Ruby narrowed her eyes and Emma closed her eyes. "He came by a few days ago to pick up the box of stuff he left behind."

"And?"

"And . . ." Emma sighed, her eyes going to the ceiling in a silent plea. "And we kissed."

"Emma . . . "

"I know. It was a stupid mistake, and I stopped it." She folded her arms across her chest, playing with the sleeves of her gray off-the-shoulder top. "I got caught in the moment. I had gone shopping and ran into him at the grocery store. He walked me back to the apartment and helped me put everything away and . . . it just felt like everything was normal again. I screwed up, let my guard down." Ruby looked at her, concern in her light green eyes. "I'm okay. Really. I haven't heard from him since."

"This explains why you didn't text me or anything until last night." Ruby pursed her lips. "I knew I shouldn't have left that morning."

"Didn't you have to work?" Emma said.

"Granny could have done without me for one day."

"She couldn't and you know it." Emma took a sip of her drink, her gaze wandering to the stage. The band looked almost hypnotized as they played, particularly Jefferson. When the song came to an end, she put her drink down to applaud. Killian looked over at her briefly, giving her a smile that wasn't quite as genuine the ones he had given her previously.

It looked as if she wasn't the only one that was distracted.

* * *

_**If you hate me after this chapter, I really don't blame you. *hangs head* **_

_**Reviews are much appreciated, but not necessary. I have spring break this week, so I'll be doing a lot of reading and writing! If you have the time, let me know what you think so far! Thanks for reading!**_


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